My husband, Paul, and I were walking around the track at the gym when I spotted a man on a stationary bicycle. He was wearing the same shirt as Paul.
Much gym attire could be called generic; any number of women were wearing, like me, black leggings. But Paul was wearing a plaid chamois shirt. In tones of orange.
On our second circuit, the man on the bike waved, and then pointed to his shirt. We all laughed.
The third time, he called out, “L.L. Bean!” Paul nodded and said, “Yep.”
It’s always amusing to turn up wearing the same clothes as someone else. Paul and I have a classic story to tell about such a situation.
It was probably 20 years ago. We were in Massachusetts, visiting Paul’s parents. We were taking them to brunch. Our friends Al and Judy (the men have known each other since high school) were meeting us there.
In the lobby, Paul and Al came face to face with the fact they were wearing the same shirt. It was another L.L. Bean chamois shirt. This one was blue, with a geometric pattern.
After we had a good laugh, we went into the dining room. We quickly realized the picture the two friends made. With their sandy hair and beards, Paul and Al could pass for brothers. And there they were, in matching shirts, with what appeared to be their parents!
People stared, some with fondness but most with incredulity. Really, grown men dressing like twins?
This year I bought myself a red and black “buffalo check” flannel shirt. The first day I wore it to work, I noticed another teacher wearing the same plaid. It was not exactly the same shirt, but close enough. Since then, I have noticed so many red and black checked shirts that I have dubbed it “shirt of the year.” It’s not just adults. I’ve seen many students wearing them too. A colleague asked me where I’d bought mine, because she wanted one.
One day I was at a Hannaford's, and caught sight of a giant TV screen in the dining area. There was some celebrity chef—in a red and black buffalo plaid shirt!
The shirt Paul wore to the gym was the shirt of the year about three years back. Back then, a colleague who sat next to me at a faculty meeting was wearing it. “I just bought my husband that shirt for Christmas,” I said.
“Well, it’s a very cool shirt.”
Others obviously agreed. I once saw a man in the supermarket wearing one, and almost mistook him for Paul. Several students had the shirt, and obviously liked it because they wore it frequently.
Ironically, I am always on Paul’s case for wearing chamois shirts to walk at the gym. “Aren’t you warm?” I’ll whine. I have this stubborn notion that there is gym attire, and chamois shirts are not it. I wear leggings and a T-shirt.
But here was this other guy who was also in a chamois shirt—on a bicycle, no less—that was exactly like Paul’s.
I’ve noticed other men in their 60s wearing heavy shirts at the gym. I guess it’s a mindset that I just don’t understand. And don’t want to, quite frankly.
In the ‘90s, I had a teal tunic that was quite fashionable at the time. Another teacher had the same tunic. This came in handy when it was “twin day” at school.
Special dress-up days at schools come at various points in the calendar. At our high school, they are scheduled during “spirit week,” which leads up to homecoming in the fall. This year, I wanted to do twin day with my colleagues in the library. Well, we would be triplets. The best we could come up with was black tops and jeans.
If we had a twin day tomorrow, I could find any number of people to pair up with me in my buffalo check shirt.
We could wear the shirt, jeans and Bean boots. I’m sure I could put together quintuplets, sextuplets—probably a whole Roman legion if I cast my net far enough.
It comes with the territory of living in Maine that if you wear L.L. Bean clothes, you are going to run into people wearing the same L.L. Bean clothes. One day at the gym, I noticed eight pairs of Bean Boots lined up in front of the cubbies. I took mine off to put on my sneakers and there were nine.
I took photos of our Quarter Three library student assistants for our Facebook page. Three of the five were wearing Bean Boots.
I bought a new winter coat this year—it’s black, and reaches to mid-thigh. I think every third woman in Maine has the same coat, or something very similar.
When I went to the skating rink recently, I was wary of leaving the coat on a bench. The place was packed. It would be so easy for someone to pick up the wrong coat. Then I looked around. My Bean Boots were in much greater danger. They were everywhere!
I managed to leave with my own clothes. It did make me wonder if I should put some sort of identifier on my coat, though; maybe a tassel in the zipper?
The next day at the gym, Paul was wearing some heavy shirt or other and so was the guy on the bike. But they were no longer twins. I wonder what the odds are that they will wear the same shirt again?
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